Dirk Hayhurst: Baseball always has more room for learning

Dirk Hayhurst

Thursday

Oct 29, 2009 at 12:01 AMOct 29, 2009 at 1:17 AM

No one misses what goes on in the big leagues. No one. Everything you’ve done or ever will do, from glory to complete disaster, is recorded in multiple slow motion angles behind high definition lenses. Commentators will relay it, analysts will review it, and you will relive it.

No one misses what goes on in the big leagues. No one. Everything you’ve done or ever will do, from glory to complete disaster, is recorded in multiple slow motion angles behind high definition lenses.

Commentators will relay it, analysts will review it, and you will relive it.

That is why you play the game. The reason you brave odds that make getting struck by lightning seem like a sure thing. The reason you chase a dream that runs countless would-be prospects into poverty. The chance at immortality beckons you.

You could have it: be a legend in the eyes of a child, a star in the gaze of the masses, a story for lifelong fans. Or you could be a joke that simply won’t die.

I was well aware of this when I fumed into the visiting locker room after unceremoniously leaving a game against the Washington Nationals this season.

At the time, the Nats were the worst team in baseball. But that night, I loaded the bases by, among other things, blowing a play at first base that I’ve been working on since Little League.

A ground ball to the right side of the infield means the pitcher breaks to first to cover the bag. This time, as the ball rolled, pulling wide the first basemen while the runner jetted down the line, I stood on the mound with my finger up my nose. Soon, I made the walk of shame into the shadows.

Tearing them off in disgust, I threw my glove into my locker. My hat and jersey followed. Each piece landed where heaved — the first time I hit my spots in three consecutive attempts all night.

Next, I flopped into my locker chair and clasped my sweaty brow in my hands. Just how bad was this going to look on my record? How did the commentators describe it? What were the coaches thinking?

What would the sports writers in my hometown print? Would the whispers of my legend turn into chuckles?

Across the locker room’s plush interior, one of my senior teammates sat in a comfortable leather conference chair — the kind I cowered in silence around or fetched Gatorades for as if I were an indentured servant.

Having more time in the Bigs than I have had in facial hair, he sat aloof, reclined with his legs up, watching the game via the locker room’s video feed, in between mulling over pitching statistics in case he was called from the bench.

He was oblivious to my frustration, and the flurry of foul words that accompanied it. To him, this was just another day at the office.

When my anger subsided, giving way to desperation, I came whimpering to the veteran. I led off with small talk, but what I really wanted was to hear him, a man of experience, tell me I was OK, that maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked.

“Embarrassed yourself on that ball to first, huh?” he said.

My head sunk immediately.

“Don’t worry,” he offered dismissively, eyes still on the screen above.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve got more than 10 years in The Show. I’m still trying to prove I can stick.”

“You’ll get more chances. You did a lot of stuff right,” he added.

I might have, but I couldn’t remember any at the time.

“So what if I did,” I continued my pouting, “it only takes one big blunder like that, and then everyone thinks you can’t get the job done.”

My veteran-turned-therapist sat up and looked at me.

“People don’t think about that stuff every second, not like you are right now,’ he said. “Don’t forget, they have their own issues. Nothing is as big as it seems in the moment. The only person sitting around keeping track of all the dumb stuff you do is you. If you let it go, it doesn’t matter what other people remember.”

He exhaled casually, then put his feet back up.

“You’ll get more chances. Worry about those — they’re the ones that matter now. Oh, and just so we’re clear, I’d tell you that whether you messed up today or not.”

I thought about the words. They were wise indeed.

“Thanks,” I said. “That’s some good advice.”

“I know,” he replied. “Now go grab me a Gatorade, rook.”

Repository contributor Dirk Hayhurst is a former Mid-American Conference Pitcher of the Year at Kent State University. The 28-year-old right-hander currently is a member of the Toronto Blue Jays, and his book, “The Bullpen Gospels: Major League Dreams of a Minor-League Veteran” is available for order at Amazon.com. Follow Hayhurst on Twitter at www.twitter/TheGarfoose.

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